As evening fell over Millbrook County, Frank Holloway walked out of Ethan's house like a man who'd just been hit by a truck and was still trying to figure out which direction it had come from.
He'd spent the entire afternoon in that cramped bedroom, watching a seventeen-year-old kid fill page after page with equations, diagrams, and theoretical frameworks that Frank — who'd spent decades in education and had attended more physics seminars than he could count — could barely follow.
His head was spinning. His legs were shaky. He needed to sit down somewhere that wasn't within arm's reach of a whiteboard covered in nuclear physics.
But beneath the exhaustion was a conviction he couldn't shake — not even if he wanted to.
The kid wasn't making it up.
Frank Holloway was no physicist. He'd never pretend to be one. But decades of rubbing shoulders with academics — sitting in on lectures, attending provincial conferences, reading papers over colleagues' shoulders — had given him a functional literacy in the field. Enough to recognize when someone was talking sense and when someone was talking nonsense.
Ethan was talking sense.
Everything within the scope of Frank's understanding checked out. The calculations were correct. The logical framework was sound. The theoretical derivations flowed with the kind of internal consistency that couldn't be faked by someone who didn't understand the underlying principles.
As for the parts that went over his head? Frank couldn't judge those. But the parts he could judge were enough.
This kid had something real.
And if that reactor ever saw the light of day — if that thing actually worked — the implications were beyond anything Frank could put into words. Energy technology that could reshape the Republic of Valoria's position in the world. Maybe reshape the world itself.
He thought about David Mercer. About the man who'd thrown himself in front of shrapnel without hesitation. About the child that man had left behind — a child Frank had sworn to protect, to raise, to give every chance.
David, your boy might be the real deal.
By the time he reached his car, the decision was already made.
Inside the house, Ethan sat on his bed and stared at the ceiling.
He felt guilty.
Before leaving, Uncle Frank had promised — personally, directly, looking him in the eye — to raise the funds. Three million marks. On one condition: Ethan could not, under any circumstances, sell his parents' house.
The promise had come from that place in Frank Holloway that was deeper than logic or pragmatism. It came from the same place that had made him raise another man's child as his own for thirteen years without complaint.
But Ethan knew his uncle's financial situation. Frank was incorruptible — had never taken a bribe, never made a backroom deal, never skimmed so much as a mark from any budget he'd managed. His income was exactly what the government paid a public school principal. No more, no less.
The Holloway family was comfortable. Not rich. The kind of household where three million marks wasn't savings — it was everything. The retirement fund. The new house. The safety net for emergencies.
And Frank was going to hand it all over to a seventeen-year-old kid's science experiment.
How could Ethan load all of that onto the man who'd already given him so much?
The house had to be sold. It had to. At worst, once the reactor worked, he'd buy it back at triple the price. The layout, the furniture, the height marks on the kitchen doorframe — all of it, exactly as it was.
I'm sorry, Mom. Dad. It's temporary. I promise.
That evening, in the Holloway household, Linda Holloway was on the verge of murder.
Her husband had come home from Millbrook and gone straight for the filing cabinet. He'd been pulling out bankbooks, savings certificates, and investment statements for the past hour, muttering numbers under his breath like a man possessed.
She didn't need to ask. The only thing on earth that could make Frank Holloway act like this was that boy.
"Frank." She stood in the doorway, arms crossed. "Frank. What are you doing?"
He didn't look up. "Calculating."
"Calculating what?"
No answer. Just more muttering.
Linda Holloway was a practical woman. She'd married a man who was honest to a fault, stubborn as a brick wall, and completely incapable of social subtlety. She'd made her peace with that. But she was not going to make her peace with him dismantling their financial security over Ethan Mercer's latest episode.
"If you ask me, that kid doesn't know what's good for him," she said, arms crossed. "Dr. Helen Archer — Helen Archer — offered to take him as her student, and he turned her down in front of the whole school. What kind of person does that?"
Frank still didn't look up. "You don't understand. Ethan's talent in physics is beyond anything we can imagine."
"Forget Helen Archer — the professors at Grandfield probably couldn't teach this kid."
Linda's lip curled. She'd watched Ethan grow up. She knew exactly what he was — a sweet but slightly reckless boy who'd always been too proud for his own good. Frank's blind spot for the kid was a mile wide. Everything Ethan did looked like genius when you were that invested.
"By the way," Frank said, pulling open another drawer, "where's the deed for our place in Crestview Heights?"
Linda felt ice form in her stomach.
"What do you want the deed for."
It wasn't a question. It was a warning.
"Frank Holloway. That house is what we saved for our entire lives. That's our retirement. That's Natalie's inheritance."
"I don't care if you empty your personal savings for that boy — I've accepted that much. But if you touch that house, you and I are going to have a serious problem."
Frank waved a hand. "Don't worry. I was just asking. Casually."
The look on his face said it was anything but casual.
Linda knew that look. It was the same look he'd worn before every terrible decision he'd ever made — the ones that turned out to be right about sixty percent of the time and catastrophic the other forty.
She'd learned to pick her battles. This wasn't one she could win with words.
So she retreated to the bedroom, picked up her phone, and called Ethan.
In his room in Millbrook, Ethan was deep in calculations — running the theoretical framework through his mind for the hundredth time, stress-testing every variable.
Five million marks sounded like a lot. It wasn't. In the world of experimental physics, five million bought you one shot. One set of equipment. One attempt. If anything went wrong — a manufacturing defect, a calibration error, a single miscalculated variable — there wouldn't be a second chance.
No pressure.
His phone rang. He glanced at the screen, and his stomach dropped.
Aunt Linda.
He took a breath and answered.
"Hey, Aunt Linda! What a surprise! We haven't talked in so long, your nephew really—"
"Cut the charm, Ethan."
Linda's voice came through the phone like a compressed spring. Low, controlled, and loaded.
"I'm going to ask you once. What exactly did you tell Frank? Because he walked through that door tonight and started trying to liquidate our life savings."
Silence.
"He wants to sell the house, Ethan. The new house. The one we just bought. The one that took us twenty years to afford."
More silence.
"Talk."
Ethan closed his eyes. He'd expected this call. Knew it was coming the moment Frank had made that promise. But hearing the scale of what Frank was willing to do — selling their new house — hit different.
This man. This impossibly stubborn, impossibly loyal man. Who'd spent his whole career refusing to bend, refusing to compromise, refusing to play the game — and who was now prepared to strip his family down to nothing for a kid who wasn't even his biological son.
"Aunt Linda." Ethan kept his voice steady, but it came out rougher than he intended. "I can't explain everything right now. It's too complicated and too sensitive."
"But I can tell you this: treat it as an investment."
"I, Ethan Mercer, give you my word — this investment will be the wisest one you and Uncle Frank ever make in your lives."
The line was quiet for a long time.
Then Linda said, very softly: "You'd better be right, kid. Because if you're not, I will personally make your life a living hell."
She hung up.
Ethan set the phone down and stared at the ceiling.
He'd just made the biggest promise of his life to two people who were putting everything they had on the line for him.
There was no room for failure. Not anymore.
PLZ Throw Powerstones.